The House in the Woods
by TalionStormcrow
Summary: A Police Officer investigates a noise complaint at an isolated farmhouse in the Adirondacks.
**Small Note: I do understand that Lovecraft's work doesn't really involve much around this area, but I figured it to be a good place to start with these fics since I'm familiar with it.**

I cannot refute, be it to the very last of my ability herein, the sureness and solidarity of the events which have taken place within the old, rotting farmhouse in the Adirondacks... It is a pity that humanity it seems is only willing to take into account the concomitant trauma following such an extraordinary and phenomenal event solely based on the idea that it is relatable to an equally prodigious experience. Hereinafter, as I'm sure you are well aware, the tale I will tell is limited merely to my ability to comprehend such a thing, and that my still questionable sanity serves only to hinder such testimony is unequivocal.

After I am done, you will know why I will never return, and your attempts to seek me out will doubtlessly not avail you. Being a police officer you must understand that it is not without burden that all of my actions be carried out, for any if not all actions are subject to judgement and discrimination.. And such actions put out that night were subjected to the same point...I will be searched for in this town, and it is for this reason that I must leave immediately...

Serving the public has been a profession of choice spanning back to my days of youth where superheroes were the people you looked up to. My interest in serving justice upon those who do wrong to others has always made my heart jump with intense satisfaction, much to the displeasure of my elders, who were meticulous when it came to what my destiny was in their eyes. The idea that their son was to bear a badge and a gun had never failed to irk them, and any attempt to shoot down my hopes was taken advantage of, instead replacing the idea with a desk job at a bank, or perhaps a car salesman.

This I am proud to say, I hadn't allowed to enter beneath the surface of my skin. Their comments always fell upon deaf ears, and I had made a promise to myself to graduate with the best grades I could in high school. High school itself was, well, tough it seemed. Studying for exams and dealing with the qualms and heartaches of the class was tough to tackle, and I can say that I was surprised to say the least that I had been able to turn my head away from such nuisances.

My incessant desire to affirm my spot as an officer of the law had without a doubt aided in my achieving valedictorian of my high school class of thirty-five minds. With this great honor, I immediately took my achievements and applied to the New York State Police Department, and was swiftly contacted. I had heard before about the waiting, stories of men and women with bachelors in Law and Criminal Justice waiting two or more years until getting a call, only to have their hopes shot down as quickly as they enter through the door. This fact, added with the call raised questions, and a thought at the back of my mind ached in my head that my dream at last come true.

The interview itself was good. Something in the middle of it seemed to pique my interviewers interest, as he was importunate in questioning my work ethic and offered situations, mock ones of which I would be dealing with on the job. I worked with my confidence, keeping a level head and answering with what I perceived to be the most rational solutions. A couple of hours passed us by and he shook my hand, telling me to wait for his call.

I didn't have to wait long. Several months flew by and after training finally received my badge. I accepted it with great honor, and the next day began my career. It is important to note that the unknown is a ceaseless factor in any and all calls, and has become quite an acquaintance in regards to my understanding of the job. Therefore, when the call was made that loud noises were heard outside of Hinkeleys farmhouse, I had proceeded with extreme caution as the man himself lacked in the compos mentis department.

As I drove my way to Old Forge, my mind began to wander, conjuring up countless situations with endless possible endings to them, and I started to groan begrudgingly at the thought of what was up this time. Hinkeley was a dumb, old man who, despite his earlier childhood spent raised in the city, had suddenly at the age of adulthood chosen to take up photography and move out into an isolated area. Of course with his wondrous appreciation for the natural world blossoming around him it was easy to spot his reasons for doing so. In his search for a new residence, I personally came out to talk to him about the house.

It was an old 18th century farmhouse surrounded by several pine and willow trees with a couple evergreens lining up the gravel driveway. The house, on the outside at least gave the viewer an eye full of raw beauty with its parallel pillars guarding a large, wooden door which beheld a lion crest. I had never seen anything more beautiful and graceful estate wise, and yet held a feeling of tension, knowing that with every house comes a darker, perhaps even sinister secret, a secret which I myself was not told.

That was ten years ago. Within that time I have only seen it twice, and with each passing frowned upon its decay, which seemed to take place st a more rapid state than others. The nearest neighbor he had was ten miles away, and even they won't go near the large estate out of fear of the dumb old man. Within this time I had never talked to him, never seen him and it seems that no one realizes he exists.. Must be nice.

This will be the first time in five years that I have gone to see the house. I would be lying if I were to withhold the fact that my heart weighs heavily upon arrival of it, as it seems every time I went there a sort of evil sense came about me, that what went on within those walls was of an insidious intension, and an even more primal rooting.

I slowed myself upon the recognizing the worn down, white tail deer painted on the mail box which now lay precariously alongside the ditch, which was curiously filled with dirt to the brim on both sides. As I pulled in, a musty, rotten stench flowed through the partially open window on my driver side. It's stench seemed to follow me through the driveway, but left eerily upon my arrival of the house, as if telling me that even the raunchiest of things would not dare venture near it.

A strange mist apparated out of the deep forest behind me, traveling towards the wood log garage to the left. I closed my door, hand resting upon my belt for safety as I knew it has been years since we had last seen each other, and knew that a solid mental state was not the case with this guy. Stepping upon the splintered steps which creaked and moaned upon the slightest appliance of weight, I gasped upon the ominous realization that _the door had been left open._

I drew my gun, a standard Glock 22 with ten bullets in the magazine. The door, partially open, had easily given way to me despite its overly large stature. I politely called to Hinkeley, stating that I was a police officer and was responding to a call made about a noise complaint, but heard no response. In fact, the house itself appeared to be silent, a stillness resonated throughout it, giving strange hospitality to the noiselessness.

My heart began to race, knowing that he could jump around any corner gave me a sense of worry, yet my training urged calm to be the dominant emotion, keeping that in mind, I pressed forward. My shoes sounded heavily upon the creaky old floorboards which lined the foyer laterally to the staircase leading to the second floor.

I quickly turned my attention to the kitchen, and was baffled by what I saw. The entire area seemed to be in a state of disarray, and within the chaos held a more minatory disposition about what exactly happened here. The walls were caked with dry blood, and disquieted me out of my calm demeanor. Just what exactly happened was a question I was beginning to feel would be better left unanswered, but figured it wouldn't bode well to the sergeant, and thusly continued my search.

Continuing from the kitchen I found the door to the basement, and quickly stifled a cry which would have most certainly given away the element of surprise. The doorknob was covered in blood, and I was taken aback, for the blood was still fresh..

I believe to have finally found the location of Hinkeley. Training fought over instinct as my fight or flight response was activated. I was ready to turn around, to give up the investigation and return with nothing in hand.. Why I didn't was beyond me.

I gathered myself and breached the door, only to be met with unending darkness within it. I drew my flashlight, weary of what I might find. Terror began to creep up my body as I took those slow, creaky steps down into the basement, and my thoughts raced as I wondered just what was going on in this eldritch darkness.

A sharp huff rang out, and as my flashlight penetrated the darkness, I could no longer hold back the scream stuck in my throat. My training has done a lot of things for me, but what it hasn't done was provide me with the capability to prepare myself mentally for the worst of situations, and this by far has proven to be the most unhinging to my mind. The amount if trauma I had endured in such little time had no doubt wreaked havoc on my mind... What sort of devilry? Maddening, cringe worthy spell had been cast over this poor man?

For in that dark, noisless basement in the house there stood the dumb man, lobbing off the canine tooth of a child, and placing it on an alter as he spoke in a language I now know to have been eons old, and the rotting bodies of countless others piled up around it in horrific repose...

And as he turned to see the blinding light, he charged. I fired..

One..

Two..

Three..

Four..

Five..

Six..

Seven..

Eight...

Nine..

Silence crept back into the basement as the man, who just before had charged at me with unrelenting force was now dead, a pool of blood laying underneath him. I felt a sudden trembling occur within the house, and a cool chill ran down the staircase causing the breezy air to stab at the back of my neck, causing my hair to raise up on end. It revealed to me a moaning sound, disembodied and coming from no where and everywhere at the same time, as if the house just released a long held breath, waiting to see what horrific end would play out in this ritualistic event..

I ran with a swiftness I've never known to have . I didn't care to report the death, all I wanted to do was get out of the house. I will tell you that the atmosphere, even the energy seemed to change as I exited, outside gave me an ominous sense of pureness, as though everything was alright. I knew at that point I wasn't done here, and had quickly run into the garage in search of a shovel. Upon finding one, I put it in my car and drove all the way down the stone driveway until I came up the T where the ditches filled with dirt lay on both sides of the road. I exited, took the shovel and began to dig...

I can tell you now that there is no doubt as to the evil that resides in the farmhouse. The very mention of the place still conjures horrific images forever burned into my mind from that day..

As for what I found in the ditch?

There lay, nearly unrecognizable to the simplest detail, rotting and bloated, several police officers from the NYPD, buried with their teeth missing on both gum lines..

 **My first Lovecraftian Fan Fic! Did you enjoy it? I enjoyed writing it so I guess that's what counts eh? I'm so glad there's such a thing as Lovecraft fan fiction.**

 **Read and Review! Any criticism is accepted and taken into account!**


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